


endling

by mothprism (pastel_kaiju)



Category: Godzilla - All Media Types, Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019)
Genre: Gen, Kaiju, Vignette, godzilla and rodan are only mentioned in passing, slight existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastel_kaiju/pseuds/mothprism
Summary: There were times when Mothra suspected that she was all that was left of her kind. Or maybe, terrifyingly, that she was all there ever was.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	endling

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello i wrote this in my notes app after listening to NSP’s cover of the last unicorn theme

One day, a long, long time ago, Mothra was born.  
  


She did not know how long she spent sleeping, growing in her egg. Only that one day, she was not. She did not know where she came from, _who_ she came from, but she was alive. She was alive and a thousand generations lived in her, preserved in the memory inherited from her mother ( _mother_ , a word so foreign in her mind).

It was so long ago that remembering her predecessor's memories felt like looking into another world. They were so distant, so distinct, that even now - a thousand reincarnations into the future - she could separate those memories from her own. Memories of the divine moths, how - in an age long forgotten by every creature but one - the skies were painted with the wings of her ilk.

Now, it was just her.

She often found herself wondering how it got to this. Species came and went. She had lived through the rise and fall of countless creatures that were mere blips in the earth's ever crawling timeline to know that as well as anyone. But there was a point in her inherited memory where it just. Stopped. Like if she closed her eyes and fell asleep and never woke up.

When she first hatched, still new and already trembling with the weight of the gifts that familiar stranger had passed on to her, she wondered vaguely if there were more. There _had_ to be more, couldn't there? It was a lovely thought. Even the rarest of creatures - the great sea-dwellers with their internal flames that slept in the deepest of trenches to the lava-coated raptors that ruled the skies - had more of their own, however scarce.

When she poured through the memories that were hers but not hers, when she came upon that sudden stop to a saga, there was no haunting epitaph. There was no big bang that heralded the end of her kind. There was only a song. There was only soft caresses along the shell of her egg that were so feather-light it felt as though she was a precious gem that would shatter at any moment.

And then there was new. Everything was new and old and familiar and strange and she was alive.


End file.
